Confined
by Ink Slave
Summary: This story was deleted originally for having a profanity word in the summary- So I'll steer clear of that the second time around. Serial Killer AU.


**A/N: Alllllrightyyy. So, I know I know. I haven't updated my other fic "At First Glance" in a few months but just for an fyi I /do/ have ch.3 started it's just not finished so I haven't forgotten about it! I'm planning on making those chapters a lot shorter so I can hopefully get them out quicker. **

**Now, anyways. This just sort of became something I didn't expect it to... I got a drabble request and oops turns out my Grimm muse wants an entire fic to himself so the King gets what the King wants, unfortunately. Tell me what you think! Reviews are much much much appreciated and I made this chapter a bit short just to get the idea out there and see how well it's liked. **

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**-Confined-**

Straight jackets are annoying as hell, I'd know because I've been in one for the past 3 years... Give or take a few months. S'kinda hard to count how long ya sit in a damn room without the days gettin jumbled together. And that's what all this is ain't it? Just one big jumbled clusterfuck of bullshit. I didn't do anything wrong, y'know. And I know 'that's what they all say' but really. It's not my problem people can't accept who I am. I swear, killin' stupid fuckers would be a more popular sport if everyone would just take the sticks out of their asses. Eh, it can't be helped. Anyways.

The name's Grimmjow. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez and don't even fuckin' try to prounounce it 'cause everyone just fucks it up anyways and it pisses me off. A lot of things piss me off. Like being in this room. Everything's too white, too sterile too...boring. The only things that stand out in this stark box is my hair and eyes, used to be my skin too but hey I haven't seen the sun in quite some time so don't judge my current complexion, got it? Like I said, I didn't ask to get locked up here. At least if they'da sent me to prison I could've gotten a nice piece of ass to be my bitch and worked out. In here I'm probably getting weak as fuck and there are absolutely no words to describe how much I want to punch someone's face in for that- kinda ironic, really.

When a person spends a good amount of time, and by 'good amount' I mean all, locked up, they start to think of the most ridiculous shit to do in order to keep the sanity. Guess that's another little bone of irony in here. Keeping yer sanity in an Insane Asylum. Of course, they don't like it when you call it that. I personally prefer 'Crazy Shit Hole' but, go fuckin' figure they don't like that either. Ya just can't please people these days. It's a pity my hands are tied up because when I think about how much I hate the fuckers who work here I can't help but salivate at the image of their blood painting my fingers. I did mention I'm convicted serial murderer, right? Yeah, I think I did.

I wouldn't have gotten caught. Nah, I was too careful. That's the problem with most serial killers, see, they get goin. Kill a couple people, then all of the sudden it's like they think they're invincible or some shit like that and they start gettin' sloppy. Not me. No, no. I was havin' way too much fun to risk being caught. Yeah, I knew full well it'd end eventually, but my dumbass thought that would be either with a self administered bullet to the brain or somethin' a bit more dramatic. What I didn't account for was one single ginger-headed fucker ruining my entire life and gettin me sent to a damn looney bin. Something about 'sociopathic and psychotic tendencies'- apparently they didn't even trust me around inmates which is fuckin' hysterical to me because since when do they give a shit about criminals? That's not the point though, the point I'm trying to make is that it's all Ichigo fucking Kurosaki's fault that I'm in here and dammit I'll never forgive the bastard. They never tell ya how long yer sentence is in these kinda places but, I'll get out one day. And Kurosaki's blood will be the first that I taste. Oh- and I'm plannin on trying out that tight little ass of his too, just for good measure. Guess this is probably the best time for the whole 'I'm gay' news. Yeah. People thought a it was a bit outta left field but they can all go fuck themselves. I like what I like. That's all there is to it.

The biggest piece of bullshit out of the whole deal is I still can't get his stupid eyes out of my head. Those brown irises that reminded me of chocolate even though I'm not a big fan of the stuff. Maybe that's why I couldn't kill him. God dammit if that's not the question of a lifetime. Why couldn't I do it? Why couldn't I just fuckin' kill the asshole? It's not like he tried too hard to stop me. He didn't beg, not like everyone else. He didn't cry, I kinda wish he would have. And he didn't even ask me the 'why are you doing this' groveling shit. No, he just stood there with his fucking eyes and stared at me but no it was so much more than that it was like he was really lookin at me and shit that was unnerving. I remember the whole thing so clearly because I can't quit replaying it over and over trying to see where I fucked up...

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I never slept in the same place, I couldn't risk it. My shocking blue hair is sort of an eye catcher and my eyes don't really help that little detail considering they're the exact same fuckin' color. Not to mention I'm about an inch over six feet and got eye tattoos from when I was a little shit who thought it looked badass. So, the point is I had to keep moving or there'd probably be a witness or some shit that recognized me and then it'd be game over. And I just couldn't afford that, I liked killing too much.

I sat on a park bench, wearing a dark grey beanie and sunglasses. It didn't look out of the ordinary though considering it was a bright day out even if it wasn't very hot. Early May will give ya that kinda weather. I hadn't even been expecting to get a new one that morning. For some reason all I really wanted to do was sit on my ass, drink my coffee and see what it was like to relax for a few hours. That was all abruptly cut short when I heard some jackass yell from the soccer field. Annoyed, I turned to look and there he was. Of course I didn't know his name then. To me he was just some asshole playing soccer with this shorter, younger girl with black hair. Most likely a sister, though considering the striking difference in their hair color, I wasn't sure. Well, I'd never know if I never asked now would I?

Luckily, most benches are located ever so conveniently next to a trash can so throwing away my empty corner store coffee cup was able to be done without taking my eyes off that guy. I walked over, shoving my hands into the grey jeans I was wearing. The kind that were tight but not so tight that a person would wonder if I really had a dick or not. And believe me, I got a dick. Comin' up to the guy I almost laughed because he was so caught up in this game that he was obviously losing that he didn't even notice me until I caught their soccer ball mid kick with one hand. Oh, the look on his face caught me off guard. The little shit looked up at me with this confused yet annoyed expression that just screamed 'fighter'. I kinda liked it.

"Oi, give us back the ball, asshole!" Orangey had quite the colorful vocabulary. His voice was deep, I liked that too.

"That ain't a very nice way to talk to someone you just met. No one taught'cha manners?" I smirked, which was weird because I don't ever really do that unless I'm about to kill someone and like I said earlier, I was off the clock today. Though lookin' at this kid, he had the kinda throat I loved to rip out with my teeth.

"Never said I was nice." He countered, though it wasn't playful in the slightest.

"Guess ya didn't. Tell ya what, you give me yer name and I'll give you the ball. Deal?" I cocked an eyebrow, waiting for a response. This was out of the ordinary for me, I never really talk to people but this guy was different. Maybe it was his hair. That crazy vibrant orange that seemed to be just as blaring and obvious as mine and maybe that meant he knew what it was like to get shit his entire life based on somethin' he couldn't control. Or maybe it was because he was damn sexy. I didn't really give a shit I just wanted a name. Before he could answer, the younger ravenette girl came jogging over to where we stood. Her eyes landing on mine almost instantly, their gaze unflinching just like Orangey's. If only she knew what I did to people who looked at me like that.

"Ichi-nii? Who's this?" Her voice was a bit deeper than I had expected. Made her sound more grown up and somehow that was weird to me. She couldn't be over thirteen.

"No one, Karin. Just go back over to the goal post, yeah? I'll be back in a sec." Interesting. It was like he could sense my danger and felt the need to send her away. She must be his sister, I concluded. He ran his fingers through his hair, huffing as a scowl painted his face. It fit him, for some odd reason. "M' Kurosaki Ichigo, alright? Now give it back."

Kurosaki Ichigo. Now that's a name you don't hear everyday. My hand extended slightly, holding the soccer ball out to him, though he'd need to step closer to grab it.

"Nice name. I'm Grimmjow. Mind if I call ya Strawberry, Kurosaki Ichigo?" Maybe it was subconscious, but my tongue seemed to spend a little too much enunciating the syllables of his name. Not that I minded though because in my opinion my voice was sexy as fuck. Berry boy must've thought so too because a slight blush crept up over his cheek bones as I said it and that seemed to piss him off a lot.

"Yeah, I do mind jackass!" He grabbed the ball out of my hand, giving me a fiery glare before turning around and going back to his sister. The bastard didn't even give me a backwards glance but hey, who doesn't like a little game of cat and mouse? I returned my hands to my pockets, grinning like a mad man as I turned to walk back to the bench I had originally been sitting on, it'd been a while since I found one that'd fight back. This was gonna be fun.


End file.
